Christmas Traditions
by BrokenSilence137
Summary: A short series of vignettes showing Sam and Dean as children during the holidays - snow fights and motel rooms and reruns of holiday movies all while John puts hunting before his sons.
1. Guardian Angels

**Guardian Angels**

_~ 1986 ~_

"Yeah, just like that Sammy, good!" Dean says, standing above Sam and flapping his arms out to the sides to show him what to do. Sam wiggles his arms in the snow. He laughs and powers through, though his thick coat and snowsuit limit his range of movement. "Good. Now your legs," Dean says, demonstrating with some jumping jacks. Sam kicks his stubby little legs out.

"Alright, you're done!" Dean says, holding a hand out to his baby brother and helping him up. "Look at the angel you made, Sammy!"

Sam looks down at his handiwork. "Wow!" he says with a big grin up to Dean.

"You did a great job," Dean says, beaming back at Sam. "D'you know what Mom used to tell us before bed?" Sam shakes his head. "She said that angels were watching over us. Angels just like that one," he says, pointing to the tiny Sam-shaped angel in the snow.

"You make wum, Beam," Sam says. Dean bites back a laugh at the clumsy way Sam mispronounces his name.

"Okay, I'll make one right next to yours. How does that sound?" Dean asks.

"Goob!" Sam says, clapping as Dean lies down in the snow. Dean kicks and flaps, creating a slightly bigger angel besides Sam's. He carefully gets up and stands beside Sam. "Umber," Sam says.

"What's under?" Dean asks.

"Angel watch umber us," Sam says as though it's painfully obvious.

"Oh, yeah. You're right. These angels are under us," Dean agrees. He looks up to see a stranger watching them closely, leaning on the chain-link fence that encloses the little open space behind their motel room. The middle-aged man grins and waves their way, a crooked smile on his lips. Sammy waves back. Dean steps in front of Sam.

"Hey, are you cold? I'm getting cold," Dean asks. Sam nods. "Alright, let's go inside," Dean says, grabbing Sam's little mitten-clad hand and taking him into the motel. He locks the door and reaches up on tiptoes to bolt it.

"Don't tell Daddy about the man, okay?" Dean tells Sam.

Sam nods as he pulls his mittens off. "Okay. Why mot?" he asks as Dean helps him unzip his coat.

"'Cause... we weren't supposed to be outside by ourselves," Dean says.

"Why?"

"Because... Do you want some hot chocolate?"

Sam's eyes light up. "Yeah!" he shouts with a big smile.

Dean unzips his own coat and pulls it off. "Alright, I'll make us some." As he walks over to the kitchenette area, he makes a mental note that chocolate is a good distraction for questions he doesn't know how to answer. At least for now.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! This first scene takes place in 1986, thus Dean is seven and Sam is three. I actually started writing this around Christmas of last year but I didn't dust it off and edit it until now. I thought I might as well post it. A few more chapters to come. Please take a minute to review if you are so inclined. Thanks!_  
_~a_


	2. Snowy Soldiers

**Snowy Soldiers**

_~ 1988 ~_

Sam clumsily struggles to pack a firm snowball through his mismatched mittens. Dean taunts him and receives retribution in the form of a chunk of snow hitting him square in the chest. He collapses dramatically, flopping down into the thick, cold blanket of white covering the vacant lot behind the rundown motel.

"Man down!" Dean shouts, imitating the army movies he's seen on TV. "Medic!" He waves an arm weakly in the air before dropping it down by his side.

Little Sam rushes over. "Hang on, soldier!" he yells to his big brother.

Dean grins and grabs Sam, pulling him down into the snow and tickling him. Sam shrieks and giggles, rolling around wildly. He pulls off his mittens and strikes a counterattack of his own, tickling his big brother until they're a writhing, laughing mess of tangled limbs and snow-dusted coats.

"Boys, time to come in," John calls. Sam and Dean struggle to their feet. Sam manages to stand up, only to lose balance and fall over. Dean helps him back up. They go into the room together. "I have to go for a little while," John says. "But Susannah from room twelve offered to look after you. Listen to what she tells you to do, alright?"

The boys nod. "See you, Daddy," Sam says. John nods and waves, holding the door open for gray-haired Susannah.

"Merry Christmas, John," she tells him with a warm smile.

"Right. Thanks. You too," John says distractedly before waving back to his boys again and walking out.

* * *

('88 - Dean is nine. Sam is five.) Reviews are much loved and appreciated. Thanks!

~a


	3. A Shining Wreath

**A Shining Wreath**

_~ 1991 ~_

Dean jumps up at the sound of the door unlocking, grinning broadly to see his father framed in the doorway. "Hey Dean," John says softly. "Looks like Sammy's asleep, huh?" he asks as he puts a styrofoam takeout container on the little dresser by the door.

Dean looks over to the far bed. Only a few tufts of Sam's hair are visible, poking out from the edge of the blanket he's curled under, sound asleep. Dean looks back to his dad and nods.

"Well, we'll let him get some rest. I brought something for you boys, though," John says, pulling a large circular object (or rather, collection of objects) from behind his back.

Dean's eyes light up at the wreath their father's brought. John hands it to him. "Where do you wanna put it?" he asks his son quietly as he brushes snow out of his hair and slips his jacket off.

"There," Dean says, pointing to the motel room door, with its off-white paint peeling from the wood in thin streaks. John nods, taking a long nail from his pocket and tapping it into the door, using the butt of his gun as a hammer.

"Alright. Hang it up," John says. Dean steps forward and hoists the ring of empty beer cans onto the nail. He moves back to admire it. The light from a nearby lamp glints off the aluminum.

John pats his son's shoulder. "It looks good. I'll be back in a few hours. Keep an eye on Sammy for me," he says, putting his jacket back on. "Oh, and I got some food for you boys," he adds, pointing to the styrofoam box he had set down a minute ago. He claps Dean on the shoulder and steps out of the room. Within seconds, Dean hears the sound of the Impala's engine turning over and fading away.

Sam wakes up a few minutes later, rubbing at his eyes and immediately catching sight of the garish holiday decoration. "What's _that_?" he asks.

"It's a wreath, dumbass," Dean says, annoyed by his little brother's less-than-approving reaction.

"It's ugly," Sam says, standing up and wrinkling his nose at the wreath.

"Dude, shut up. It's awesome. Dad got it for us."

"Wreaths are supposed to be made from evergreen trees or something," Sam complains, "They're supposed to be pretty and smell good. That's how they are in all the movies and on all the nice houses we drive by," Sam says, folding his arms in front of his chest and sitting back down on the bed.

"Yeah? Well, ours is way cooler. Come on. This is awesome! I mean, doesn't it make you wanna meet the dude who made this?" Dean asks.

"No," Sam replies simply. "Where's Dad?"

Dean frowns.

* * *

(1991 - Dean is twelve. Sam is eight.) Reviews please! Thanks.

~a


	4. A Wonderful Life

**A Wonderful Life**

_~ 1994 ~_

A black-and-white Jimmy Stewart runs across the tiny screen shouting, "Merry Christmas, movie house! Merry Christmas, emporium! Merry Christmas, you wonderful old Building and L-" The television set goes dead, cutting the movie short.

"Dammit," Dean mutters, standing up from his perch on the edge of the bed. He hits the TV, fussing with the rabbit ears, checking the plug, and hitting the TV once more before giving up on it. He throws himself back on the bed, knocking into Sam who shoves him.

"Hey, watch it!" Dean says, scrambling to get a hold on the blanket to keep himself from falling. Sam closes the book he was thumbing through and sits up.

"What's the big deal? You know how it ends already," Sam says, annoyed by the way Dean's eyebrows have knitted together in disappointment.

"Yeah, but I like to see it. I always watch it when it comes on around the holidays."

"I know," Sam says, exercising all the self-control he has not to roll his eyes. He'd enjoyed the movie as a kid, but after watching it year after year, he couldn't help but grow sick of it. He thinks how Dean seems to be fine with watching fictional characters have everything they don't, but it just makes Sam spiteful: George Bailey may have had a difficult life, but he had a family, a community, a place to call home. Sam wants a wonderful life of his own, but he's trapped. Different motel room every year, same sad, lonely, little Christmas.

"Why are you bein' such a brat?" Dean asks, feeling the waves of Sam's sour mood.

Sam shrugs and shakes his head. "No reason. Sorry," he mutters.

"Bullshit. What's your issue?" Dean prods.

"Drop it," Sam says curtly.

"Nope," Dean says, poking Sam in the ribs.

Sam slaps his brother's hand away. "I'm just not into the whole happy, smiling families sitting around a tree and drinking egg nog thing," he says with another shrug.

"Why not?" Dean asks, though he thinks he knows the answer.

"'Cause we don't have that. And I'm used to it, but it's not fun to be reminded of it all the time," Sam explains grudgingly as he rakes a hand through his hair.

Dean nods. "I get that, I guess," he says.

"Really?" Sam asks. "You're not gonna bitch at me for being an ungrateful little crap? Or for taking you and Dad for granted?"

Dean bites on his lip for a second. "Nah. I get it."

"Th-Thanks," Sam says, a little taken aback.

"It was easier when you were a kid, when you didn't realize what you were missin' out on," Dean says, tugging at a loose thread in the wrinkled comforter they're sitting on.

"Yeah. Kinda. When it was just snow angels and whatever."

"Yeah, being a kid and having the whole 'ignorance is bliss' thing going for ya," Dean says, nodding absentmindedly as he remembers the day, years ago, when he taught Sam how to make a snow angel for the first time and told him about Mary's guardian angels.

But snow angels were ice waiting to melt, and guardian angels were just as insubstantial. It came down to Dean to watch out for himself and his brother. There were no angels protecting them.

* * *

_This is the final chapter in this series of scenes. It's 1994 so, Dean is fifteen and Sam is eleven. Thanks for reading._

_~a_


End file.
